


all was golden in the sky / when the moon fell in love with the sun

by charleybradburies



Series: when the day met the night [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Actors, Banter, Biting, Clothing, Community: 1_million_words, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Time, Flirting, Gender Roles, Introspection, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, Lingerie, Love Bites, Marking, Morning Routines, Mornings, POV Male Character, Partial Nudity, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Reconciliation Sex, Relationship(s), Reminiscing, Rough Kissing, Secret Relationship, Seduction, Sequel, Spies & Secret Agents, Surprise Kissing, Surprises, Tumblr: otpprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s an odd diversion in thought that he has; this scene was supposed to be the other way around, men marked their girls, not the other way around, but in truth he’s still on the high of knowing that this particular girl actually wanted to consider him hers that it’s not at all emasculating. Instead, he feels like he’s earned something...and well, he has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all was golden in the sky / when the moon fell in love with the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Based on two OTPPrompts posts:
> 
> A) Imagine person A of your OTP is trying to do something while person B is giving them playful little kisses and bites down their neck and touching them teasingly.
> 
> and 
> 
> B) Imagine person A walking person B home from their first date. It begins to rain and, overcome with how beautiful A is, B leans A up against a lamppost and gently kisses A.
> 
> Title from Panic! at the Disco's "When the Day Met the Night."
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Suggestions, comments, and the like are always appreciated!!! xx

“Angie!” Jack yelps, and it sounds more like a whine. This last kiss of hers felt suspiciously like a bite, one of her hands was creeping around his hip, and he’s just messed up his tie. Again. 

“Yes?” she replies with a feigned innocence, soft lips and hot breath still tickling his neck. She brings her arms up from his waist, wrapping one across his chest and balancing herself on his shoulder with the other. 

“You are actually _trying_ to make me late, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what on earth you’re on about, Jack.”

“Mmm-hmm...”

Looking in the mirror, he sees the glint in her eyes as she turns her eyes back to him and presses a kiss to his cheek. Half-heartedly he worries that she’s going to continue distracting him, but she brings both her hands up to his sternum and pries his tie from his hands, tying it herself with unanticipated finesse. She folds his shirt collar over it and sets her chin upon his shoulder, looking to the mirror with her pretty little eyebrows raised at him. 

After meeting his gaze for a moment, she sets herself back on her feet; he turns around to face her, letting his hands drift underneath the shirt of his slung around her - one to the small of her back, and the other cupping her ass. They’re still just that breathless few inches apart, and his leaning in to kiss her is inevitable, impassioned, and practically immediate - but eventually, a slight shift in position has his left foot tapping against his briefcase, and he quickly and unhappily remembers that at some point that morning he’d been on his way to work. 

He doesn’t move away at first, unwilling even when she pulls her lips from his and drags them down to his neck and leaves a series of what he knows have to be proper bite marks. 

It’s an odd diversion in thought that he has; this scene was supposed to be the other way around, men marked their girls, not the other way around, but in truth he’s still on the high of knowing that this particular girl actually wanted to consider him hers that it’s not at all emasculating. Instead, he feels like he’s earned something...and well, he has. 

Considering how Angie’d only agreed to that drink Thursday night after he’d met with her in person to swear that he actually meant that he was sorry for being a jerk to Peggy - and even then, with the condition that he be entirely aware that she was suspicious of his shift in ethos, and prepared both to slap him and give him as much chewing out as she deemed appropriate - he’d earned one hell of a something, and not _just_ cause Angie Martinelli was truly something else. 

She’d even sworn, until she’d blushed at his comment about how he thought she should get an award for the improvisation that had just about kept Peggy from being found, that the rendezvous was a matter of being willing to cadge a couple drinks off him, and they were _not_ on a date. 

And sure, he’d had a torch for her for a little while now, but he hadn’t dared let himself show up thinking that anything but a softening of her features and an accepted apology might come of the event. The “maybe you aren’t half bad, pretty boy” had been a pleasant surprise, the kiss on his cheek as they’d begun to depart from the bar even more so; but when, a moment later, the rain had started coming down, and her dress, already almost skintight, had become slick against her skin, and then she’d turned back to him with a smile and he knew that the lamppost above her had nothing to do with the way she shined with sheer beauty, he’d stumbled away from his self-control and pulled her into a proper kiss, and it had been the (second to) last thing he’d ever _dreamt_ of expecting for Angie to lean up against the lamppost and pull him closer. To pull away only when they both were soaked through to the bone, and follow a suggestive look with “well, cowboy, I’m already dripping wet…driving me home now would seem like a premature end to a date, wouldn’t it?” was the beginning of a particularly lascivious dream - one that he woke up the following morning to discover had actually come true.

That had been a damn good start to his Friday, but then, in congruence with that way of hers that made her seem incapable of doing something that _didn't_ surprise him, she'd stayed. She'd been there - dressed in one of his dress shirts and nearly nothing else, lolling around his apartment like she owned the place - when he'd gotten home, and reminded him that he'd given her permission in writing to stick around with a tone that implied he should have been expecting her, before propping herself up on the table and urging him close to her again. They'd had a go at it right there on the kitchen table, and his Friday ended better than it had begun - the rest of the weekend had followed in due turn.

Krzeminski, among many others, had complained about the hardships of leaving a beautiful woman on a Monday morning. Jack had never actually had cause enough to have one staying over on a Sunday night in the first place, but Angie...certainly seemed intent on being his first time for a lot of things. Hell, there hadn’t even been any other girl he’d been with who’d known Gam-Gam was still alive, let alone that Jack still talked to her - Angie’d gotten her name out of him with five minutes and some tears; and she’d learned of his very private hobby of sketching with little more than a wink and a bite of her lip and a hitch of that goddamned red dress. 

Jack forces himself to pull away from her, and she seems to realize why. 

“Have a good day at work, honey,” Angie giggles mockingly, running her fingertips through his hair, seemingly to style it, and he chuckles. 

“Any jerks at the diner try to feel you up, I’ll only be a phone call away.”

“Captain Jack Thompson, you are _more_ than enough of a handful with your gun still in its holster.”

She reaches back to the coat rack, pulling his hat off the top and putting it on, resting the back of its brim on her ponytail. Rolling his eyes, Jack goes to grab his suit jacket from the closet, and quickly slips it on before walking back past the door to the mirror. Angie puts her hands out, grasping the lapels and pulling him almost up against her again, and doing up the jacket’s buttons.

“Closing time’s eleven, right?”

“And you’d better be there - sharp,” Angie nods, a sexily stern expression in her eyes as they meet his again.

“Not a place I’d rather be, doll,” he replies, gingerly plucking his hat from her head and flipping it onto his own with a roguish grin. 

“Damn right,” she says softly, leaning forward and giving him a surprisingly gentle kiss. He bends down for a second to grab his briefcase before reminding himself that he’s most likely already late, and letting go of her reluctantly. 

She crosses her arms to pull the satin robe around her tight, covering herself up, and leans in the doorway as he leaves, seeing him off with a blown kiss and a sweet smile.


End file.
